


To see in the dark

by SingSwan_SpringSwan



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers get nightmares and Peter is no exception, But lots of fluff, Fluff, Gen, Nightmares, PTSD, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter, Stop doubting yourself Peter, TONY LOVES YOU, Wanda can read minds, avengers as a family, big sis Wanda, drowning trigger, idk if that’s an actual thing but just to be safe, literally everyone loves you, sleepy boi Peter, wanda is a good sis, youngest Avengers bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 01:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingSwan_SpringSwan/pseuds/SingSwan_SpringSwan
Summary: Peter is staying the weekend at the Compound in order to employ Dr. Banner’s help on a science project. (That was a disgusting sentence, wow) Unfortunately for the young hero, a certain Tony Stark is away on a business trip, and unable to help Peter with the nightmares that he may or may not get.ORBeing a telepath isn’t all it’s chalked up to be. Not only can Wanda not always control the power, but she also tends to see things she’d rather not. Like dreams. It scares her, deep down, so badly that she can’t sleep without a nightlight.(Sorry for the crappy summary I’m tired)





	To see in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags, and sorry for any sloppiness. I always appreciate constructive criticism!

Wanda didn’t like to sleep at night. Sleeping during the day was fine. Go to school, come back to the Compound, sleep for six hours… then she would wake up when everyone else would start to hit the stacks, and she would stay up and do her homework until it was time to go to school again.

There was a reason she didn’t like to sleep at night.

Controlling her telekinesis had been a cinch. It was simple. Not complicated. Very straightforward. But telekinesis wasn’t her only power. Wanda was a telepath too. Out of the two abilities, she liked telepathy the least. Because telepathy was the hardest to control.

Wanda didn’t  _ want _ to know what everyone was thinking on a daily basis, so she usually kept the power under wraps when in public. Missions were exceptions, but even then she had practiced often enough to be selective.

No no, the problem was not when she used her power excessively. The problem came when she was unconscious.

When she was asleep.

When Wanda was asleep, she had no control over her powers. More often than not, she’d even woken up to see objects floating around the room, glowing scarlet. She’d shouted at Pietro the first time it’d happened, after finding him burrowed in a cocoon of blankets under his bed.

_ “Why are you under your bed?” _

_ “You called the wardrobe in your sleep.” _

_ “I did what?” _

_ “I figured you might drop it at some point… so I decided to go under the bed in case it fell on me.” _

_ “Why didn’t you wake me up?” _

_ “You looked really peaceful. And you needed to rest, especially after the last mission.” _

Wanda hadn’t been able to go back to bed that night, for fear of taking anything  _ out _ of the wardrobe. She’d been ready to throw hands in the morning. 

The worst part though was not the telekinesis. It was seeing a dream for the first time. Her mind always wandered when she slept, so it wasn’t that big of a surprise. The surprise came when her mind was suddenly able to interact with someone else’s: when Wanda had absolutely no control or say in the matter. 

In all actuality, Wanda’s first dream wasn’t that bad. She couldn’t feel the fear of the person dreaming, so the only emotions she felt were her own—specifically the surprise and horror at watching herself die.

She’d yelled at Pietro again that morning. For not telling her about the nightmares he’d been having.

Seeing Pietro’s nightmare had been a few weeks after Sokovia. They’d just moved into the new compound with the resurrected S.H.I.E.L.D. and a few of the other Avengers, and given the timeline, Wanda hadn’t really been that surprised. But that had been the start of a very long year for her.

Nights.

Nights were awful.

Wanda started seeing the dreams of the other people at the Compound. Sometimes it would just be a trivial little nothing that a random worker had thought up, but other times… well, other times it was a whole world of worse.

When Wanda dreamed the dreams of the Avengers, it was hard not to feel conflicted. They all had their darkness, one way or another, and at that point, it was kind of expected for their unconscious minds to run wild, but being Earth’s mightiest heroes came at a very high price. Protecting the planet wasn’t just a physical duty. They all had stories they’d rather not share.

Unfortunately for Wanda, she didn’t have a choice to whether or not she’d listen. Because being a telepath didn’t just mean hearing thoughts.

No no. Wanda  _ saw _ everything.

She was so familiar with the nightmares now she could usually tell whose mind it was before anything bad happened. However, the only problem was that Wanda was not a lucid dreamer. She couldn’t come to her senses before it was too late, and because of that, she felt more pain and heartache than maybe all of them combined.

Steve’s dreams were nightmares, yes, but they were good, honest nightmares. Often, he was in the thick of a battle, slashing down enemies, struggling not to hesitate every time he saw a face that was human. Sometimes things changed up a bit, and Steve would watch Bucky fall, only to wake up moments later and realize his friend was just across the hallway.

Steve was the closest out of all of them to feeling anything when he dreamed. But like the rest of the Avengers, he was too painfully familiar with the nightmares to be scared of them anymore. Which was part of the worst for Wanda.

Being a telepath, she could feel the sickeningly  _ blank _ spot where the emotions should be. Every time she woke up, it made her want to vomit.

Natasha’s dreams weren’t any better; her feelings were even more mechanic, and the nightmares didn’t even seem like nightmares until they were over. Pain you didn’t know was there.

The assassin dreamed of silk. Spider thread. Honeycombs and ballet shoes. The world’s softest blanket. But the blanket was warm—too warm—and it smothered. And it choked. Delicate and graceful and pretty. Always pretty.

China and stained glass. Marble and wispy smoke. White clouds and pouring rain. Gravity and swaying trees. Light streets and dancing butterflies.

Always pretty.

It made Wanda sick.

Then there was Clint. He always cared about his family. In his nightmares, he often saw them dying, which didn’t hurt Wanda any less the more often she witnessed it. She was surprised to occasionally see herself and Pietro in the mix, and that always touched her heart.

Clint was afraid of feeling powerless, and so in his nightmares, he was always forced to do nothing but stand back and watch. It cut Wanda to feel how  _ badly _ he wanted to help. But that was all he felt.

Dr. Banner’s dreams were by far Wanda’s favorite to watch. While he often had nothing to look forward to when he closed his eyes, he was a lucid dreamer, and he was the only one besides Pietro that knew about Wanda’s wandering powers. Whenever he felt her presence, he often tried to change the view for her sake, and she adored him for it.

Sam—like Steve—dreamed much about war, although he had been spared many of its horrors. His dreams were bittersweet. He didn’t want others to suffer that too.

That was partly why he tried.

Colonel Rhodes’ dreams were exhausting when he dreamed at all. He was always going somewhere, always following orders. He just wanted to help, but he wasn't allowed to, some of the time. His body was burned. He fell from the sky. He lost his best friend over and over and over again.

But somehow, his heart didn’t ache like Wanda’s each time he dreamed. It was a fact of his life, and he’d come to terms with it.

Tony, Thor, and Scott didn’t stay at the compound as often as the rest of the team, but their nightmares were no less awful. 

Scott saw colors that Wanda hadn’t known existed. He heard sounds she couldn’t describe. It was a sensory overload, if anything, but like everyone else, he was not afraid. He just felt very, very small.

Thor didn’t really have dreams. At least, Wanda was _pretty sure_ they weren’t dreams. They seemed like memories. It was that kind of sentiment. There was so much emotion that wasn’t fresh, and he felt and he loved and he was  _ alive _ . He cared  _ so much _ , why couldn’t anyone else see that?

Thor and Wanda didn’t interact much. She was under the impression that he still hadn’t forgiven her for that little trick on Klaw’s ship.

And Tony. Wow, did Wanda feel for him. She used to hate the man. She used to hate him so much. But she’d never read his mind before seeing one of his dreams—she was better than him, after all—and oh was she glad for it. He was so broken inside. Seeing his nightmares was like wading through shattered glass. It was horrible, and so so painful. Shards from the smoking mirrors he’d tried to break through. They kept coming back.

Then there was Bucky Barnes. Out of everyone in the entire compound, on the entire team, his dreams likely scared Wanda the most. Not that he was afraid. Not that he saw things too awful and repulsive to speak of, no no, quite the contrary. He saw nothing at all. His mind was just a soft, white nothingness, and Wanda could  _ feel _ his heart underneath the endless expanse, but she couldn’t reach it, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to. But seeing the most intimate and private part of his being so blank was scary for her, because it seemed like he was not alive. She knew it wasn’t his fault. She knew it was just the echoes of his past life. But it scared her all the same.

Wanda knew it wasn’t healthy to not sleep with regularity. She really did try. But whenever Pietro convinced her to go to sleep with everyone else, she usually saw things she’d rather not. True, there were good dreams, but in a place so full of nightmares, those were few and far between.

And it wasn’t like she saw someone else’s monsters every time she fell asleep, but it was often, and she had her own nightmares to worry about. No one really understood what it was like.

Over the course of the year following the accords, the year following her imprisonment and torture and eventual pardon, the dream-seeing became her biggest struggle. Not coming back to America, not going back to highschool, not calculus, not physics, not even world history. Wanda was good at lying with her face. She could appear to feel something when she really didn’t. So going into the real world was not a problem. 

The problem came with worried faces of people she’d fought alongside of. People she’d watched bicker over the TV remote, beat each other with pillows, start prank wars, and throw food and explosives because  _ gosh darn it, Steve, you can’t just leave your shield on the couch, someone needs to sit there _ . 

People who were a family. A largely dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless. One that Wanda still wasn’t sure she was a part of.

Wanda knew that they cared, despite how good they were at masking it, or even if they weren’t. Sam told her regularly to redirect her sleeping routine. Clint—ever the family man—always tried to rope her into group bonding moments later at night. Natasha threatened to slip her sleeping aids if she didn’t stop conking right after school. It was nice to know how much they cared, and Wanda really did try to take their advice.

She knew she should have a better sleep schedule, and she had been doing well the last few months, the last week, in fact. She’d been sleeping a good six hours every night, and the only dream that she’d accidentally read was so precious that it even encouraged her to sleep again. A little girl with brown hair and Pepper’s eyes.

Her name had been Morgan.

Wanda was used to seeing all the nightmares, now. She could handle them because she was used to it. 

What she  _ wasn’t _ used to was the Parker boy. She hadn’t exactly met him in Germany, but she knew of him, and she knew he was young. He wasn’t an Avenger though. He was just Tony’s little kid, and  _ everyone _ —including Loki and Steve—was fond of him, in their own ways. He just brought about a sense of innocence and joy with him wherever he went; Wanda supposed that was particularly appreciated in a group of people with minds so broken.

Most of the time, the kid visited the Tower in New York City, where he often worked with Bruce or Tony on his little projects and experiments. 

The Tower was the Avengers’ home away from home. They usually stayed at the Compound, but when fun upgrades and dangerous missions needed attending to, Stark Tower served as a convenient base. Wanda knew it had been difficult for Tony to let the team back in, but they’d been his family, and he eventually caved and allowed them stay.

Wanda actually preferred it there, most days, simply because most everyone else didn’t. Also, Peter was there. It wasn’t  _ every _ weekend, granted, but whenever he had the chance, his Aunt gave him permission, and he would sleep over Friday and Saturday nights. The AIs knew him. The staff adored him. And he was Tony Stark’s protegee. He was also only fifteen (sixteen in two months! He’d protested when Wanda asked), which officially made Wanda the  _ second _ youngest (Pietro was older by twelve minutes). 

Not to say that Peter was an Avenger. Nope, he’d turned that offer down. But anyone who could beat Captain America in an arm wrestle was official in the Maximoff book.

Wanda in particular quite enjoyed his company. Even if they were just sitting on the couch together doing completely different activities. His presence was simply enjoyable and lovable, whether or not he was rambling on and on about trivial little nothings, or acting in a puppyish manner that both Tony and Bucky claimed they found annoying.

On the rare occasion, however, Peter stayed his weekend at the Compound. Tony insisted that he train, especially when Peter had protested that he'd rather go patrolling multiple times. It was a smart move on the genius’ part. Wanda wasn't an expert on hand-to-hand combat, but she knew that Peter was already bounds stronger and faster than most of the Avengers, and if only he could work on his technique, it wouldn’t be long before he was able to outmatch the majority of them. At fifteen, no less. How many fifteen-year-olds could safely say they could beat up an Avenger?

This weekend was different though. When Peter visited, Tony usually came with him. This time, the billionaire was on a business trip. Usually, Peter came to train. This time, he was working on a science project. Doctor Banner was at the Compound too, which was also out of norm seeing as he typically stayed at the Tower. Peter was just having too much fun geeking out over the fact that  _ Bruce Banner  _ had offered to help him with his AP chemistry.

Now, enter Wanda’s sleeping schedule. On days that Peter visited, Wanda made a point to try and sleep the night before, just so she could spend more time with him. He and his adorable friend Ned had introduced her to multiple games online that, at times, they could spend hours on end talking through the headsets, slaying monsters or building castles and generally just having fun. They'd even convinced Pietro to join in every now and then, despite his objections. It was nice to feel like a kid.

So Wanda always did her best to sleep. Because if she went to sleep that night, she’d have energy for Peter in the morning. She was quite fond of the younger boy already, and going to sleep when the rest of the team went to sleep was a risk she was willing to take. 

Most of the Avengers weren't even at the Compound that weekend. Pietro, Sam, Natasha, Vision, and Steve were out on missions, Tony and Scott were on business trips, and Thor was in New Asgard with his brother. Most people would see it as lonely and empty, but Wanda was relieved to have the quiet. Especially since that meant she wouldn't be seeing the dreams. She expected to sleep peacefully Friday night.

Because there was no reason for Peter to have dreams as dark as theirs. No reason. None at all. 

He just stayed low to the ground, watched out for the little guy. He wasn’t involved in all of the horrors that were Wanda’s life. He didn’t see the things she saw. He didn’t hurt the way she hurt. He didn’t know what it was like to grow up in a minute. At least, he wasn’t supposed to.

And yet, Wanda had never felt so much terror in all her life. Nothing could compare to what she felt that night. She didn’t know why until she realized whose nightmare it really was. Because while the Avengers each carried their own demons, they had learned not to be afraid of them. So Wanda never felt scared whenever she saw their dreams.

Because she could not feel their pain.

So when the cold, raw terror sliced through her drifting sleep, it closed her throat off, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

No, really. She couldn’t breathe. Her skin was cold, her movements sluggish. She could feel her body sinking through the frigid water, could feel the sheet tangled around her body, could feel the scream trapped in her throat.

She was drowning. She was drowning and there was no one to save her. Seconds ticked ticked ticked by. She was trapped. She was dying. She was all alone.

No one would know what had happened to her. She would sink to the bottom of the lake and disappear. No one was coming to the rescue. It was just the dark, cold water. The raw, strangling panic.

She was scared. She didn’t want to die. Maybe there was something—something she could do—try and free herself. But the sheet—the parachute had twisted her limbs together, wrapping around her face, holding her steady despite how she desperately thrashed and writhed and  _ moved _ , trying to get it off—no use. 

The darkness became darker as the cold became colder. It wormed into her bones. It soaked into her eyes. Blinded her. Took away all her tears. She was going to die.

She didn’t want to die. But she was going to.

She should have stayed home that night. She should never have decided to go to that party. What did it matter, anyway? If she’d known all along that she wouldn’t have the courage to walk in that house dressed as someone other than herself.

She hoped her friends wouldn’t be too sad. They’d probably have a hard time at school, getting bullied and mistreated without her there to take the brunt of it. Because she could handle the blows, and they couldn’t. She hoped that her aunt would be okay on her own. She didn’t want her to be lonely in their apartment, the one they’d shared together for almost nine years. Or being sad every time she walked down the street to get thai because she couldn’t cook to save her life. 

She hoped that Mr. Stark didn’t blame himself. It wasn’t his fault she was about to die, but he would find a way to convince himself that it had been. Wanda didn’t want that.

She didn’t want to die. But she was going too. 

She could feel her heart thundering inside her chest, desperate as she was for oxygen. But her lungs shouldn’t be filled with water—she inhaled anyway. 

Pain.

This was really truly drowning. The last bit of air left her body, chasing its way to the surface in a steady line of bubbles. Water crashed in and took its place, making her cough, making her inhale more. And more. And more. Until she was sure that she was convulsing so violently that her limbs may or may not have snapped in the wrong directions. It hurt. Everything hurt. It was cold. And it was dark. And everything hurt. And she was going to die.

Wanda was so scared.

She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to go . She just wanted to  _ live _ . She wanted to see her brother again. She wanted—

To wake up.

All of a sudden, Wanda’s mind came crashing back into her own body and she jolted upright in bed, gasping furiously. Sobbing, drenched in cold sweat. Her throat was raw, tears flowed freely down her face, and the blankets were so twisted and tangled that she was pretty sure they’d made themselves into a knot.

_ It was just a dream _ .

Her eyes frantically darted around the room until they came to rest on the nightlight in the corner. The warm, gentle glow helped to chase away the darkness, chase away the cold. It reminded Wanda that she was here. In the Compound. She was not drowning. 

Pietro had picked the light because he hadn’t wanted her to be embarrassed for needing it. Even though Sam had tried to convince her that he slept with one too.  Wanda didn’t take her eyes off the soothing glow as she kicked back the sheets vengefully. She trembled, hugged her knees to her chest. Sobbed. 

But it wasn’t long before she remembered that it hadn’t been her dream. She didn’t live with her aunt. She’d never been afraid of drowning.

Still shaking violently, with tears still running, she pulled herself up. This wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t—shouldn’t have to—

Wanda yanked the door open and half walked, half ran down the hall, not caring about the time, not caring about what she wore. She was too preoccupied with chanting something in her head.

_ Please no. Please no. It can’t be him. He’s too young. He’s too young to feel this pain, to be this scared, to dream these dreams. It can’t be him. It shouldn’t be him. He’s too young. Please, no. _

She begged the silence in the halls, each door she passed, her feet to move faster,  _ please, it can’t be him _ .

Deep down she knew she would be disappointed. And was she ever.

By the time she reached Peter’s door, she had been sprinting down the past few hallways. His room was on the opposite side of the residential wing, next to Vision’s. It was a hike for Wanda; the place was so big. But she was unworried about the fact that her breath came in ragged gasps from running so hard. She just needed to get inside that room.

The door didn’t stand a chance.

What she saw when she entered made her heart drop. Peter wasn’t even on the bed anymore. He’d fallen off in some obvious form of panic, but it was clear that he was not awake. He was tangled in sheets. He didn’t have a nightlight.

He was hyperventilating too. But while his bones still seemed to be intact, he was most certainly not in good shape.

Wanda didn’t like using her powers on any of her teammates, but this situation was dire, and she didn’t waste a second in waking him up. 

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he cried out. Wanda’s heart dropped even further. She rushed to his side and tore away the offending blankets, then grabbing gentle but firm hold of his hands.

“Peter!” She tried.

His breathing was still erratic, and he struggled against her with an effort that to him was probably weak, but to Wanda was difficult to restrain.

“Peter, listen to me. Can you hear my voice? Squeeze my fingers if you can hear me.”

Limp pressure was applied to her hands.

“You’re at the Compound.” She told him gently. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

His eyes were still unfocused, but he managed to relax a bit in her grip.

“You’re not drowning.” She added on. “You can breathe. I need you to breathe, Peter. You can do it. You’re going to be okay.”

Slowly but surely, he calmed, after no small amount of minutes or soothing words on Wanda’s part to be sure. But it wasn’t fair. It still _wasn’t fair._

“M-Miss Maximoff!” Was the first thing he coherently managed to stutter. “Oh! Um, I-I’m so sor-ry—I didn’t realize—did I wake you up? Did anyone else hear me? I hope I’m not bothering—“

Wanda shook her head in disbelief. She’d need to choose her words. “No one else is awake.” She assured him. “It’s just you and me.”

He flushed deeply. “I’m sorry I woke you up—I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t apologize,” Wanda cut him off. “Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of. Although, I am a little curious to know exactly why you were doing what you were doing in your’s.” An unruly curl stood out on the side of his head. Wanda reached over and smoothed it down, gently.

“Drowning?” He shuddered, eyes suddenly wide. “How did you…” His lips trembled. “How did you know that?”

“I can read minds.” She said softly. “I dreamed your dream.”

He looked doubly horrified and stricken at the same time. “And you felt… everything?”

The truth would make him feel guilty for something that wasn’t his fault, but did Wanda have the heart to lie to him? After what he’d just seen? ...No. Not really.

“Yes.”

“Oh no…” He moaned, pulling his hands from her slackened grip and burying his face in them. “I am so sorry! I knew I should have been more careful! I should have paid better attention to what was going on—or used that blanket like Mr. Barnes said—or taken the sleeping medicine Ms. Romanoff told me to take since I got my ribs yeeted on patrol last night—or—or—”

Wanda shook her head vehemently, even though she knew he couldn’t see the motion. She touched his arms. Trying to ground him. “No, Peter listen. This isn’t your fault.” She insisted. Whatever happened to watching her words? Oh well. “All of the Avengers get nightmares; we’ve all seen things we wish we could forget. It gets scary sometimes.” She didn’t mention who exactly it was scary for, but he didn’t need to know that. “I thought I’d seen it all, I guess. I can’t stop myself from reading their minds, not when I’m asleep. And you’re so different, I should have been prepared.”

“I’m not even an Avenger.” He whimpered. His hands came down a little, showing the sparkling wetness on his cheeks. “I haven’t even been through half of the stuff you guys have, and I’m still getting nightmares like a baby.”

Wanda’s hold tightened by a fraction. “Having bad dreams doesn’t mean you’re a baby.” 

His hands shifted down a little further. 

“It doesn’t mean you’re weak. It just means that you’ve got a bigger weight to carry than most people, and Peter, while I have no doubt that you’re able to shoulder it on your own, let me tell you some great news.”

A little further.

Wanda leaned forward and lowered her voice a tiny bit. How could she possibly convey all of this emotion and sincerity to a boy whose fatal flaw was literally blaming himself for everything? She needed to get this point across. He needed to understand just how deeply her love for him ran. It wasn’t just fondness, or protectiveness, she would take every freaking bullet in the world if it meant keeping this little one happy. 

“You’re not alone.” She whispered. She tilted her head to watch his hands slide the rest of the way from his face. “Do you get that? There are countless people in this building that care so much about you, and we’re here to help no matter what. All of us. Natasha, Clint, Steve, Vision, Rhodey, Bucky, Sam, we’re all here, Peter.”

He sniffled quietly, gaze fixed on Wanda’s navy blue toenails. They were still mostly intact, thanks to the extra layer of sealant that Helen had helped her paint on. Girls night, was about all she could say. Who knew Natasha and Pepper were such artists?

“I… I don’t get it.” Peter eventually mumbled. He had one knee pressed against his chest with both arms circled loosely around his ankle. Shy. He looked shy. And slightly confused.

Wanda dropped her hands but shifted closer to the boy, moving so that they were both facing the same direction and leaning on the frame of the bed. “What don’t you get?”

He lowered his head to rest his chin against his knee. “Why would—” He needed to clear his throat. “Why would anyone ’care so much’ about me? I’m just a random kid from Queens who can’t even eat a PB&J sandwich unless it’s cut into triangles without the crust.”

Wanda would have paused right there to ask him to elaborate because that was definitely something he and Tony had in common, but she was already on a mission. “Peter, I don’t think you understand.” Her voice had intensified, and even she could hear it. “You bring happiness like this place has never seen before. For those broken warriors a few halls down, you make them feel whole again, in a way that only this family could do.”

Peter’s eyes snapped up at that, and she bet she didn’t even have to read his mind to know what he was thinking. Yes, she’d just implied that they were family, which, if Tony hadn’t already made that clear, Wanda was going to make sure Pepper knew. Sure he wasn’t so familiar with the entire team, but one didn’t have to be a sociologist to see the effect that Peter’s mere presence could have on them.

“You are the light of their lives.” Wanda promised. She reached over and took his hand again. The sunshine on a cloudy day. Fresh rain on a trodden flower. A fire’s warmth that touches the whole house, bringing safety and comfort to everyone inside. “You’re the home they fight to protect.” 

He didn’t say anything to that. She wasn’t sure if he believed her, but he should. He should. He should believe it, because it was true. All, and so much more. Peter was everything good in the world. He was good for the sake of good! Even in a way that the Captain America’s of the universe could never hope to be. He loved, and he loved without restraint, without bias, without fear. To Wanda, that was very beautiful. It was awe-inspiring.

The silence stretched between them. It wasn’t really uncomfortable though, just quiet enough for them to hear each other’s breaths. They sat like that for a while and listened. 

The room was dark.

“Peter?” Wanda didn’t know how much time had passed since she’d stopped talking and started again, but it could have been a minute just as easily as an hour. She surprisingly didn’t mind.

The boy gave a small noise of affirmation. Somewhere along the line, his head had slipped along the bedframe to rest on her shoulder. It felt comfortable. Natural. He was still holding her hand.

“Does anyone know about your nightmares?” 

She had a feeling she already knew the answer, but it still made her hurt when he paused anyway and mumbled a quiet, “No.”

Wanda sighed quietly. “Not even… not even Stark?”

Peter's eyes grew wide and his head snapped up. “W-what? No! No no! I… I couldn't tell him— _ especially _ not him. No.” He hugged his knees tighter.

“Why not?” Wanda frowned. “He cares about you. He'd be willing to help.”

Peter shook his head furiously. “No, no no no. I can't tell him. He'll think I'm weak and helpless! He shouldn't have to deal with my problems anyway; he's a really busy man and—”

Wanda glared. “What the heck, Peter? You really think he'll see you as weak and helpless?”

He turned to meet her hard gaze, sniffling slightly. Tears had started to pool in his eyes again.

“You're one of the strongest people I know. Come on, Spidey, give yourself more credit. Tony's already cornered the market on self-hate.” She used her free hand to brush away a few tears that had already spilled. “Even Iron Man gets bad dreams sometimes. He wouldn't think less of you for having the same problem.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. I can read minds, remember?”

His smile was almost nonexistent, but it was there anyway, and Wanda decided to count it as a victory.

“So Tony doesn't know. Does he know why you were having that particular dream? It was a memory. Something about a party.”

His eyes dropped. He was quiet for a while.

“I um.” 

It didn't seem like a particularly painful memory—before the lake, at least—but Peter seemed uncomfortable recalling it nonetheless.

“There was this girl that I really liked last year.” He started hesitantly. “She was super smart, popular, really outgoing and nice… she had a party at her house one night, and she told me to come. She said she admired Spider-man, like, in our gym class, and my friend Ned blurted out that I knew the guy.” He blushed. “But then this other kid—Flash—didn't believe me and called me a liar, so I decided to go to the party and do like, a little swing-by to prove him wrong, but… while I was putting the suit on, there was just this huge explosion and I couldn't  _ not _ go check it out, you know? So I went to go see what was happening and these guys were showing off some weird alien weapons and they saw me and ran off so I chased them and tried to get on their van but then their boss had these wings and he grabbed me and flew me up really high and dropped me in the lake but my parachute had deployed and I was upside down so it didn't really open and I got tangled and so when I fell into the water, I was trapped and couldn't get out. I… I was so sure I was going to die.” He looked close to crying again, and his breath came out in audible shudders. Wanda felt like shuddering too. She'd felt the fear. The cold. She'd seen the darkness. It was not a memory she wanted.

“But obviously you're not.” She said helpfully.

Peter shook his head. “Mr. Stark sent one of his suits to get me. He was thinking of selling the Tower, so he was at a party in India or something, but he said that if he didn't have wifi, I'd have been toast.”

Wanda had never heard this story before. How much had they missed since the accords? It seemed like ages ago, and apparently it had been.

“It's a good thing he did his job.” Wanda teased. “Or the world would be all the worse for it.”

That earned her a real smile. Her heart swelled.

“It just gets scary in the moment. I, well, I dream that Mr. Stark never finds me. I just… disappear. You know, I guess.”

Wanda touched his arm. “I do. Peter, listen. I may not know him that well, but Stark will always find you. He cares too much to let you disappear. And even if he doesn't, then I will. We all will. I hope you know that, it's what it means to be family.”

The word took a while to sink in.  _ Family _ . Define family. The people closest and/or related to you, not necessarily through blood. Synonyms include: team, loved ones, cousins, relatives, Avengers. The Avengers were a family, right? Sure they fought—like, really, actually fought—but the love that bound them together was so much stronger than the hate that drove them apart. They cared about each other, missed each other, watched each other's backs. That was all that truly mattered, right? As long as they could forgive and protect, they could find a way to make it work. Because families didn't just feud, they fought  _ for _ each other too. 

Wanda would fight for Peter. They all would.

“I'm… wait, what?”

Wanda lurched impulsively and wrapped him in a hug. He gave a surprised squeak.

“My baby brother.” She warned with a smile on her lips. “If we're a family, that makes you my baby brother. I'm jealous. I'll protect you from all the shadows. I'll light up all the darkness.”

She was surprised at how quickly he relaxed at the contact, even going so far as to circle his own arms around her middle. It was comforting, the touch. Again, it felt easy and natural, and Wanda's heart ached with how much she  _ missed _ this. Neither of them wanted to pulled away for a while.

“You should tell Tony about those kids at school.” Wanda murmured suddenly. She felt bad about the abrupt subject change, but the mind is a mysterious thing that Wanda would probably never understand. Besides, she had promised to protect Peter, and what better way to do that than to involve the big man himself?

Peter jerked and leaned back in surprise. “What? You mean Ned and MJ and—”

“No, I mean the kids that bully you. There's one in particular. What's his name? Flash?”

Peter's mouth fell open. “How did you—”

“I can read minds.” She tapped the side of her head. You thought about it in your dream.”

“Oh. Well Flash is just an insecure jerk. He insults me and stuff, but I let him because if I don't he'll pick on someone who's more insecure and won't be able to handle it.”

“How about not letting him pick on anyone at all?”

Peter shrugged sheepishly. “He's insecure. He needs to let it out somehow.”

“That can be done in a healthier way, one that doesn't involve anyone getting hurt.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Wanda shushed him. “Please, tell Tony about all of this. The nightmares, your schoolmates, this irrational fear that you have of rejection. It's irrational, Peter.”

He played with the edge of his SI sweatshirt. He was so sweet, so innocent, and far too young to be this scared. It wasn't fair. He shouldn't have to experience the pain. It was okay to need someone to lean on, to need a light in the dark.

After a few moments, Peter finally gave a reluctant nod. “Okay.”

“He'll help you, and he'd love to do it.”

Peter's eyes flicked up to meet hers. He was still very unsure, very hesitant, but he was going to be alright. He was strong. And even if he wasn't, he had people to be strong for him. He had a family to fall back on.

Wanda smiled. She took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “You know what? I have an idea for you. It might make it easier to fall asleep.” She didn’t tell him what she had in mind, partly because she was worried he’d reject the thought, even if he just might need it.

“Whatever you say,” Peter mumbled, giving her hand a quick squeeze—after which he became occupied with a gaping yawn.

By Asgard, Wanda would die a thousand times over for this kid. “You should get to bed, little brother.” She hadn’t been keeping track of how much time had passed, but it was probably early in the morning. The sun would rise in a few hours, no doubt. “We can talk more later.”

He yawned again as Wanda hauled him to his feet, promptly collapsing onto the bed and slowly shifting under the blankets.

Wanda was about to turn and walk away, but Peter still had a hold of her hand.

“Wait,” 

Wanda turned to see him blink forcefully. It was really incredible how fast he could lose consciousness.

“Wanda, will you…” He paused to readjust his grip on her fingers. “Will you stay with me? Until I fall asleep?”

She bent down and used her free hand to brush the curls from his face. “Of course, Peter.” 

He gave a miniscule nod and snuggled further into the linens.

Pietro found them like that the next day, curled together, sound asleep. It was the best night's rest that Wanda had gotten in a while, and she was willing to bet that Peter would say the same.

“I'm going to the store.” She announced at breakfast. And it took her three malls before she finally found what she was looking for. Sure, she could have just employed Tony's help, but she would have had to wait for him to get back, and he would have made it so much more complicated than it had to be. Wanda just needed a handful of double-A batteries. It was simple. She knew Peter would like it.

And even if it was simple, and it hadn't cost Wanda much, and she really didn't mind at all, her heart still swelled when she plugged the arc-reactor nightlight into Peter's wall. 

It glowed a soft blue.

Peter and Wanda didn't talk about what happened for the rest of the time he stayed at the Compound, or the light that Wanda had bought. They didn't need to. There was just a quiet understanding that had been shared. No one of them was ever on their own; Wanda had promised after all, and she had every intention of her word. 

Peter hugged her before he left. She hugged back just as fiercely.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay... yeah. I clearly can’t do endings.
> 
> Forgive me if Wanda’s character seemed off. I did my best, but this is actually my first time writing her so if you have ideas on how to make her more like herself, let me know. I’m completely open to your suggestions. 
> 
> Also, I felt like the collapsed-building nightmare was getting a little too cliche and decided to have Peter dream about almost drowning instead. It makes sense that he would be extremely traumatized from that experience, and I don’t think people give him enough credit for that. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading! Ily guys ^^


End file.
